Rain
by Elsa Shawcross
Summary: Stan goes back to the Goth Kids for comfort after another breakup with Wendy and mainly Pete is there to comfort him as he himself is deep in thought as the rain fell down on South Park that day, reminding himself why he never cries. Oneshot. Pete/Stan (Rated T for mild themes)


(Notes: Some snippets of this story were based off of my roleplay collaboration with Demography101, so, Dem, if ever you are reading this, some scenes would be familiar. And thank you for pitching in ideas over the phone; helped a lot in plot development, even if this was just a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, as they belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker, so forgive some inaccuracies I may put on, like weather, timeline, etc.)

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The skies darkened that day. It was some of those rare occasions that the snowy mountain town that I lived in would actually have some rain. Because even in the summer time, South Park had always been a town filled with snow. It always had been in the past sixteen years I've existed. And even if I did enjoy the harsh coldness of snow, I have always loved how rainclouds darkened the skies as drops poured down, leeching the world of meaning, bringing out a bleak atmosphere. I flipped my onyx hair dyed with some deep crimson out of my face, as my fringe was getting longer. I may have to consider getting a haircut someday, or maybe not. Nothing has really changed in five years aside from some buildings getting an upgrade, and South Park Elementary even had a high school. This town still remained the same, save for some strange occurrences, but I don't really give a damn.

I was always deep in thought whenever it rained. And reflected on a lot of things, that even made the others think that I overthink. I simply shrugged and sometimes tease them for overreacting. One of the few things that I've thought about during the rain was that despite our view on how the world and society is fucked up, our level of angst isn't similar, and we even stretch on how life was painful. Although Michael's parents have had problems here and there, they stayed together. Henrietta's parents were more or less just worried that their daughter was going through a phase, which was false, and she viewed it as abuse. I more or less had a tolerable family, who in turn, tolerated my lifestyle. Fights at home were pretty normal, but my parents always somehow ended in compromises that usually outweighed the arguments. Firkle, was just fucking hardcore and scary at times. Period.

I sat down with my friends that day at The Village Inn, sipping the dark blend of coffee we usually ordered. We all scoffed at all the Justin and Britney wannabes that passed by, rolling our eyes in their disgusting conformism. Sometimes I wondered whether we should change the term for those preppy wannabes. Then again, we never bothered watching useless mainstream shit on television. I'd rather gouge my eyes out with rusty pitchforks than to have to bear watching television on whoever is now the new Britney or Justin.

We heard a faint noise from a distance, breaking my reverie of thoughts. It was the sound of two people fighting near the entrance, and one of the voices belonged to someone I was familiar with. _Raven's._ Or as he was more known for, _Stan Marsh_. They were bickering over something that often strained their relationship. We knew what would happen next, their fights were pretty predictable.

"God damn it, Wendy, I am done with your shit," he vented out, "You always break up with me just because I can't support for whatever the hell you stand for. Last time in Junior High, you force me to support your anti-consumerist stand. Of course, I couldn't buy anything, not even clothes that I needed because I was growing out of my old ones. Didn't you even consider that? And now, you forced me to go vegan while I was at the highlight of my quarterback years in South Park High, and look what it cost our team. Three losses, Wendy, three. I fainted in the middle of training and was even hospitalized for lack of nutrients. I've been doing my best to support you, but all you've done is be selfish and not even support me in what I want!"

"See, this is all you ever think about, Stan," Wendy retorted, "We said we were in this together, but you can't even understand what I want! I always feel ignored whenever you needed to go back to practice. Sure, dating the quarterback made me popular, but it's not easy. It never was! I wanted someone by my side to fight on what I think is right!"

"But to my expense more than yours!" he shouted, "You know how varsity players' diets are supposed to be. And stripping their number one source of strength is practically killing them. I let my team down three games in a row, I can't do that again."

"Then it's over, Stan."

His eyes widened in shock, "What?"

"It's over," Wendy replied, "We can't compromise over what we want, so I guess we just have to go back to being friends."

I could hear his heart shatter in a million pieces. I don't know if it was just me who heard it, but the constant on-off relationship between Stan and Wendy had been known to a lot of circles, and not just the inner circles. Strangely enough, we were part of Stan's inner circle; then again, Stan _was_ a Goth. And even if he left once, we still considered him a friend, if not clandestinely. He still tends to talk to us, and we talk to him in return. It was an odd friendship in the eyes of the conformists, but we never minded. He was a walking contradiction in a lot of ways, and that made him equally as nonconformist as us.

"She just crushed him with her stiletto heels again," Henrietta remarked, looking at Stan standing rigidly, still not getting over from the breakup.

"He's always like that, even before," I said, flipping my fringe off my face, "Always rigid, always clutching his chest. He never really got used to breaking up with her."

"Why does he even bother being with that preppy cheerleader bitch?" Firkle asked, scowling at her as she sat on a far corner after seeing Bebe Stevens, another one of the preppy cheerleaders, if not more preppy. She greeted Wendy as her arm was glued to a stocky jock named Clyde Donovan. Their laughs made me cringe.

Stan left the café and faced the gradually heavy rain outside. The monotone color of the outside was beautiful to the Goths, but even more so to me, the color of despair made me feel safe. The rain gave off a scent that felt comfortable for me, and the coldness of the rain was the right amount that wasn't as harsh as the snow, but wasn't gentle like the cool winds. Stan let himself get soaked by the rain, and I could sense the despair in his heart. It sounded like the wailing sea, tasted like salty tears, and felt like heavy iron weights that pulled you down in misery. I wanted to come to him, to console him as a friend, maybe even more. I hesitated and pulled myself back. I don't want to be too hasty, nor do I want to give him the wrong idea. In all honesty, I've harbored feelings for Stan, but never admitted to it. I felt that infatuations were mere conformist feelings, but after that Stotch kid mention something about 'beautiful sadness' despite calling us fags, we all reflected on what he had said after a while. We realized that falling in love was not such a bad thing, and it was okay to love. It started growing off on Michael and Henrietta, as they wanted to try experimenting. At first, it felt awkward with Firkle and me since they were now holding hands and kissing, but despite entering that level of relationship, they made it to a point that our friendship was more important, and if they broke off, they'd shrug it as 'conformist feelings'. We never believed in sappy fairy tale endings.

"Stan texted," Michael said, looking at his phone, "he wanted to meet up with us again, saying that he needed us."

I was glad to have held back, I wanted to properly execute my feelings towards him, even if he just saw me as a friend.

"Tell him to meet up at my place instead, since we mostly go to Henrietta's room for poetry reading, and mine for mostly talking," I said, and Michael nodded. Stan replied to all our phones. 'Okay. I'll see you guys later.'

It didn't take long before all of us went to my place; we had to let the heavy rain subside before we got to my house. My room wasn't as decorated as Henrietta's, but it gave off the same gothic environment, with the lights dimmed and the walls painted a deep crimson color. I let the others pick their music to set off the mood, and as I saw Stan open the door, I curled up a smile. He wore the same black hat with a puffball and he had eyeliner under his lower lashes. Since his old shirt didn't fit him, he wore a new black band shirt and black cargo pants. Raven was back, but we were accustomed to calling him Stan anyway, so it didn't matter what we called him. He was our friend, and he was part of our family.

"Whatever was in your conversation, we heard everything," Michael said, lighting a cigarette.

"You don't look so good," Henrietta commented, "You lost a bit of weight. And it ended up horribly wrong."

"It was Wendy's idea, when she was protesting about how meat is killing off a lot of animals," Stan replied, rolling his eyes.

"Isn't that, like, against jockey diet or something?" I asked, flipping my fringe away.

"That's what I've been telling her a hundred times now!" he said, and I patted his shoulder for comfort. He felt relaxed and he rested his head on my shoulder. My cheeks felt hot as they tinged a bit of pink and I sighed to brush off the thought. Firkle saw right through me and grinned. I scoffed and looked out the window. It still rained, but it was feebler now, the soft pit-patting of the raindrops audible against the glass. It had rained all day, just not enough to flood the town. The weather truly gave out an aura of despair, where you feel that your soul ached in unexplainable emptiness, creating a void that could not be filled.

"Why'd you even go back with her if you knew she'll just crush your heart?" Michael scowled.

"I still love her," he shrugged, tears smudging his eyeliner, "I mean, the fact that she's hot and smart and popular are added points, but she's always been my girlfriend since we were kids."

"Maybe it's time that you let go of her," I said, "I mean, I don't think it will ever work out for you if there will always be pointless arguments. Face it, Stan. You two have different ideologies where there is no middle ground or no compromise. And if either one of you tries to, it would be at one's expense or the other."

I felt like I spewed out venom as I spoke those words to him. I've felt enraged all those years whenever I see them so sweetly in love yet so bitter in their fights. Stan continued leaking tears as I wiped them away.

"Don't smudge your eyeliner," I said, "Isn't the rainfall enough to cry for you?"

That was a terribly cheesy statement, but I think that was the very reason that I no longer cried, the very reason why I loved the rain. I always let the skies pour out my emotions; I always let the rain cry for me. And it was when I felt like crying the time I was always deep in thought. It also rained when Raven left us, and it rained heavier because I wanted to cry, but couldn't.

"I don't know," he said, "I'm not as strong as you are."

"You're wrong," I replied, "I've always stopped myself from crying and let the raindrops become my tears. That's not being strong, that's holding back."

"But w-why did you w-want me to l-let go of her?" he asked, his words faltering from his sobs.

I sighed and placed my arm around him, "I want you to free yourself from her. Your love for her turned into chains and you are still bound from it. That, and I—"

"Yes, Pete?"

I bit my lip, gulping, "I've like you for some time now."

That was the worst timing for my confession, but he looked up at me as his tears dried off, the evidence shown by the smudged eyeliner on his cheeks, "Huh? You have?"

"Yeah, but knowing you," I chuckled darkly, "You'd put me in the friend zone."

At that moment, I felt warmth spreading across my face. I felt his lips brush on mine as I deepened the kiss. It was chaste and somewhat clumsy. Then again, it took Stan a while before he could kiss Wendy without throwing up on her. I smiled at him. Those were the rare moments where I smiled sincerely as I wrapped my arms around him, closing my eyes.

"The rain stopped falling," Henrietta blinked, noticing the window.

And surely enough, that was the first time in years that I felt tears trickling down my cheeks.

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(This was a very long oneshot with a really clichéd ending. Rate, review, and comment, I guess?)


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